


Stripping the willow

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale is problematically attracted to Crowley in a kilt, Caning, Crowley does his Scottish accent, It's not a proper ceilidh without a few bruises..., M/M, Tartan, This is totally how healthy relationships work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Aziraphale fails to cope with the sight of Crowley dressed appropriately for a ceilidh.  He probably should have seen that one coming
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	Stripping the willow

Aziraphale was fretting. It was becoming increasingly clear that he'd have to drag Crowley out the house, when really he'd been _so_ hoping that the demon would behave nicely for once. He knew it was a bit much to ask: demons never behaved nicely, even the ones improbably and deeply in love with angels. But really he thought he'd let Crowley know how much he'd wanted to go to this dance. It was _years_ since he'd been to a ceilidh. London wasn't exactly the place for them.

And then, Crowley's footsteps were coming down the stairs, and into the shop. Aziraphale took a deep breath, and told himself to calm down. It was all fine, they weren't even running that late. Everything was fine: until he caught sight of Crowley.

All that calming air was suddenly expelled from his lungs. Aziraphale breathed in rapidly again, so as to freeze Crowley in place with a piercing _“What_ do you think you're doing?”

“Huh?” The demon was obviously playing dumb.

“ _Look at you!_ I can't go out with you dressed like that!”

Crowley looked crestfallen. “You don't like it?” It wasn't like he'd spent the last hour in front of the mirror, examining the dark green and black kilt from every angle. He was really fucking glad he hadn't gone with the sporran now.

Aziraphale's response was to sweep past Crowley and up the stairs, dragging the demon behind him by the arm. It had very nearly been by the hair. Crowley's yelp of surprise did nothing to slow the angel.

Up into the bedroom they went, and Aziraphale flung the demon onto the bed. Said demon was still looking completely nonplussed, and also a little dazed from being thrown about so unexpectedly.

The avenging angel bore down on an extremely confused Crowley. After a brief struggle, the demon found himself held face down across Aziraphale's knee. This still made no sense, but Crowley decided just to roll with it. He let his body go limp, and waited to see what the angel would do next.

Aziraphale now gripped the demon's arse cheeks and squeezed hard. Crowley let out a small grunt, and tried not to squirm. He managed to keep himself still as the angel lifted up his kilt.

“ _Crowley!”_

“Yes, angel?”

“ _Why_ aren't you wearing any underwear?”

“Um... it's tradition?”

Things really weren't getting any less confusing for Crowley. Aziraphale already knew that he rarely wore anything under his jeans, and had very much never complained about that fact.

Aziraphale delivered a stinging slap to Crowley's bare arse. There was a surprised yelp, and the angel glared at the reddening skin laid across his lap.

In a calm, measured and frankly terrifying voice, Aziraphale spoke again.

“How could you think of going out like that?”

“Angel, I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about. You said we were going to a ceilidh, I dressed appropriately. _Please_ can you tell me what the problem is here? If you don't like the kilt, I'll get rid...”

“ _Don't like the kilt?_ Crowley, how could you think of going out dressed so – so _provocatively?”_

“What?”

“You! Dressed like that. _Flaunting_ yourself. Am I not enough for you any more?”

“Angel, please can you stop being outraged and actually _tell me what I've done?_ I'm sorry you don't like the kilt, I thought you would so... I can change out of it, it's fine.”

“You will _not_ change out of it.” Aziraphale gripped the demon's arse again possessively.

Crowley groaned. _“Please_ start making sense, Aziraphale, I don't know what you want from me here.”

“What I _want_ is for no-one but me to see you dressed like that!” Aziraphale flicked at the tartan fabric aggressively.

“...Oh.” Crowley took a minute to think things through. “You – you like the kilt?”

“Yes!”

“And... you want to be the only one to appreciate it?” Crowley did a little wiggle, making a fold of fabric drape attractively over his bare arse.

“Exactly. We will _not_ be going out tonight, and you will _not_ be taking that kilt off. Are we clear?”

“Crystal. So... what _did_ you have in mind then?” Crowley's voice had just the hint of a Nanny Ashtoreth inflection now.

“I rather think I'll have to teach you a lesson.” Aziraphale smoothed a hand over the tartan fabric, before pulling it back up to expose Crowley again.

Crowley's field of vision was mostly taken up by the side of the bed and Aziraphale's trousers, but he didn't need to see in order to sense the angel's flick of the wrist to perform a minor miracle.

“You will count for me.” Aziraphale brought down the length of bamboo rod with a thwack.

“ _Fuck!_ One...”

There was a pause as Aziraphale shuffled the demon down his legs a little, to get a better range. The second hit came harder than the first.

Gasping, Crowley counted. “Two...”

Aziraphale had intended to make it to ten. But, finding himself still unsatisfied, he pushed his whimpering demon to count up to fifteen instead.

Crowley's cheeks were now covered in lines of red welts. Digging his nails in, Aziraphale drew more plaintive noises from the demon's mouth.

“What have you learned?”

Crowley paused to think. “It's... it's just for you, angel. I won't wear it for anyone else.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Now, how would you like to move on?”

Considering the erection that had been pressing ineffectually into Aziraphale's leg almost since his punishment had begun, Crowley whispered “Could you fuck me?” He was sounding more Scottish by the minute.

Aziraphale was pleased. He grabbed Crowley's hair, but pulled upwards gently, until the demon was scrambling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Show me how you want it.”

Moving with clumsy speed, Crowley clambered across the bed and took up position on all fours, arms braced against the headboard.

“Good boy.” Having calmed down, Aziraphale took his time stripping, and laying his clothes out carefully across the seat of a nearby chair. Now naked, he joined Crowley on the bed.

Lifting Crowley's kilt reverently this time, Aziraphale kissed the cruel marks he'd left earlier. The demon shivered, and then moaned as Aziraphale dragged his tongue over Crowley's anus.

Pleased at the response, Aziraphale returned to lick the same spot over and again. Then, having miracled closer the bottle of lube kept by the bed, the angel squirted some over his fingers and began massaging it into the skin around Crowley's hole.

When the demon began to whimper impatiently, Aziraphale pushed his first finger into Crowley's anus. Pushing himself backwards and wriggling just a little, Crowley made it clear he was eager for more. Ignoring this, Aziraphale dipped in and out lazily, eventually adding a second finger long after Crowley was aching for it.

When Aziraphale decided he was now teasing himself almost as much as his demon, he suddenly shifted to pumping his fingers in and out rapidly. Crowley gasped once more, and squeezed his eyes shut to lose himself fully in the sensation.

With a grunt, Aziraphale pulled out and allowed himself to finally do what he'd longed to ever since first seeing Crowley that evening: he balled up his fists in the tartan and thrust his cock deep into the demon's arse.

There was little rhythm to the fucking that followed. Crowley pushed desperately into the headboard, trying to keep himself in position, while Aziraphale ploughed into him savagely again and again. Sometimes the angel would pause to catch his breath, before once more plunging in with renewed vigour.

They were both drenched in sweat by the time Aziraphale came to a climax. Crowley shook as he felt the angel spurt inside him. When Aziraphale pulled out, he held the demon by the hips to keep him in place. Watching the slow trickle of ejaculate leak from Crowley's hole, he leant in and licked deeply. Crowley collapsed onto the bed.

Later, after they'd both cleaned themselves up, Crowley once more admired himself in the mirror, craning round to see all the marks his angel had left.

“Well, they say it's not a proper ceilidh unless if you get a few bruises...”

**Author's Note:**

> Valvopus, do you remember that ceilidh, and the long walk home in the rain... My heart aches for you


End file.
